Second Chances
by Bob Elder
Summary: Jake is having problems.


Authors Note: Okay. It's a bit in the future, Jake could be construed to be a little out of character, but he has had a bit of a breakdown. Or, at least, that's what I was trying to get across. :-)

Second Chances

By: Bob Elder

_Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,_

_And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor._

# _Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow_

_From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-_

_For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-_

_Nameless here for evermore._

Excerpt from Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven"

Jake stepped down off the stoop and onto the street. The Pop-Tart in his hands was hot; he could feel it even through the napkin. He started forward and, passing the pastry to his left hand, he took a bite. As he dug for change in his pocket, Jake turned a corner, took another bite, and walked up to a newsstand. Magazines and newspapers lined the walls, as well as the small shelf below the clerk's window. 

"Hello, Michael." 

The clerk bobbed his head in greeting. "Hey, Jake. Is it cold enough for you?"

Jake smiled "Sure is. I'll take _The Times_ today." he took another bite of his Pop-Tart, which was rapidly cooling in the December air. Picking up a paper from the shelf, he passed the fifty cents through the small window. 

Michael smiled. "Thank you very much. You have nice day."

"You too."

Tucking the paper under his arm, Jake continued on his way, stopping to throw the now useless napkin into a trashcan. He was having one of his good mornings. To an outside observer everything seemed to be okay. He had managed not to cry so far. That was always a good sign.

Yes. Jake's life was fine, but what did the outside observer know? From Jake's point of view, from behind his eyes, nothing was fine. Oh, he tried to pretend that he was happy, that he had always lived in New York. Perhaps he even believed that to a certain extent. Perhaps. But the dreams always brought back the memories. Memories he could not run from. 

Jake turned into one of the many delis the city had to offer. The man at the counter turned as he heard the bells on the door. "So, nice of you to show up."

Jake looked down, eyes studying the red and black tiles. "I'm sorry sir."

The man shook his head. "_I'm_ sorry, but if you show up late again, you're fired."

"Yes sir." Jake nodded. Moving behind the counter, he took off his coat. Wrapping it around his paper, he threw it in the back office and took one of the aprons from the peg on the wall.

The man sighed, "You've got good potential, boy. I just wish you wouldn't keep shirking your responsibilities."

Jake froze, hands poised to tie the apron strings behind his back. Did he know? How was it possible? Could…his thoughts trailed off. No. Mr. Denitola couldn't know. It was just a bad choice of words, nothing to get upset about. Jake took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

"Are you all right?" there was genuine concern in the owner's voice.

"Oh. Um." Jake brought back his thoughts "Yes, sir. I'm fine. I'll get to the fruits now."

Mr. Denitola frowned. "Okay then, if you're sure…"

Jake waved off his boss's concern, and moved into the storeroom. Picking up a large crate of mixed fruit, he carried it into the store. After dropping it, somewhat noisily, he took the big bowl from the counter and started to pile fruit into it. Mr. Denitola liked the bananas on one side, the apples on the other, and oranges in-between, with grapes lining the edges. So that's what Jake did. No questions. No decisions. Just Bananas, Apples, Oranges, and Grapes.

Only, Bananas, Apples, Oranges, and Grapes. Just, Bananas, Apples, Oranges, and Grapes. That's when Jake caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye. His heart stopped, and he turned to get a good look. He saw her then, plain as day, walking past the large window at the front of the store.

Drawing in a sharp breath, he jerked completely around, sending the fruit bowl flying. Apples scattered across the floor as he ran for the door. He brushed by a customer coming in. "Oh!"

"Hey! Jake! Hold on a minute!" Mr. Denitola called out. But Jake didn't care. The chill air sent goosebumps rippling all along his arms. Jake didn't care. She was here. She was alive. "Cassie!" he cried "Cassie! Wait!" 

Stumbling forward he managed to get a hand on her shoulder. The woman turned around, eyes wide. Jake stopped mid sentence, stopped just as he was about to pour his heart out. It wasn't Cassie. "I'm…I'm…Sorry." He muttered, "I thought you were somebody else." 

The woman said something and turned away, walking down the street. Jake just stood there, staring at nothing. It wasn't Cassie. It never was. He had seen her face a thousand times, and each time it wasn't really her. Each time his hopes swelled, and each time they were deflated. 

People pushed passed him, eager to get on with their lives, eager to get away from the strange person just standing there. "Jake? Come on Jake. Get back to the store." He barely registered Mr. Denitola's voice. Jake didn't care.

He pulled the apron off, and thrust it at his employer. Mr. Denitola said something else, but Jake didn't hear it. The Animorph, if he could still be called that, turned around and walked away; not even bothering to go back and get his coat or newspaper. Jake just didn't care.

Jake walked for a very long time. By the time he ended up in front of his apartment building, he wasn't aware of his numb fingers, he was only aware of his shame, and regret. How had it all ended up like this? How? Everything had slipped so far from his control. Once he had been the stalwart leader, now, look at him.

With a sigh, he entered the lobby of his building. It was not a fancy place at all, far from it. It was a run down old building that Jake could barely afford. Could not afford, since the only job he had ever managed to keep was gone. Not that it mattered to horribly much. He could always find another place, somewhere.

The elevator made a grinding noise as it rose to the third floor, where his one room apartment sat. Trash bags littered the hallway, and he had to kick several out of the way before he came to his door. The number "3" had been ripped off completely, and the letter "C" was askew, hanging by one remaining screw. 

"Well. Home Sweet Home." Jake turned the key, and the with a shove door popped open. He flicked the light switch, and nothing happened. The electricity was gone. Again. Jake shook his head. Oh well. He was out of here in the morning anyway. 

Moving over to the fridge, he opened it to find half a can of Spam, and a bottle of ketchup. Jake grabbed the Spam and moved over to the small window. Its view opened up to a brick wall, but Jake found if he sat just right, he could see the sky. Ah, the sky. What would it be like to fly again? 

He shook his head, banishing old memories. He hadn't flown since he had arrived here, and hadn't been anything else before that. What would they think of him now? Without meaning to, Jake found himself thinking back to that day, that happened such a short time ago, but was ancient history. 

_ _

_ Cassie? No! We have to go back for her! _

_ Jake! Think about what you're saying, man! _

_The Hork-Bajir were closing in, but Jake could still see where they had piled on top of her._

_ Come on! Rachel cried We have to get out of here! _

_Cassie. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. _

_ Prince Jake, I might be able to reach her, what shall I do? _

_ Run! Jake screamed, and they ran._

__

He sunk down to the floor. No. No. No. No. NO. NO. NO. "NO!" he cried. He had left her. He had left her to die. Jake covered his face. He had left her, then left the rest of them. Just, left. Jake started to cry again. Gone. Just gone. Jake sat there, back against the wall, eating his Spam, and sobbing. 

Look what it all had come out to. With a sudden thought, he wondered how the others were. Were they alive? Did the Yeerks still threaten the Earth? Jake wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Maybe. But what could he do about it? Nothing. So, he sat there until sleep fell upon him, and the empty can rolled across the sloping floor. 


End file.
